Ink
by Nug Feathers
Summary: Shepard and Vega have a little bonding moment while discussing past, present, and future tattoos. FShep/Vega


"A-ah, shit!" Vega groused. "Careful!"

The batarian behind him snorted, but eased up on the needle and Vega let out a sigh of relief. He'd been sitting here, in one of the cargo containers serving as temporary housing, for over an hour. The interior stank of stale sweat and sour chemicals and Vega wondered what this container had held before it was emptied out, hoping it hadn't been anything toxic. The buzz of many, many voices echoed strangely inside the container. The refugee camp held more and more people each time Vega came down here. Soon it would be full, then overcrowded. A sharp jab interrupted his thoughts. He gritted his teeth, inhaling sharply, but said nothing. Although the batarians were much more… tolerant without the Hegemony breathing down their necks, he didn't want to test his tattooist's patience; he might end up with an image of some krogan's balls inked on his skin instead of the N7 insignia.

"Lieutenant,"

Vega looked up to see Shepard standing in the doorway of the storage container. She looked tired, her hair coming loose from its bun in places. There was a bit of blood on her collar and Vega wondered what she'd been up to. It was strange to see her standing still, she was usually on the move, solving everyone's problems and getting shit done. Even on the Normandy, she was always on the go.

"Commander," he said, giving her his most winning smile. "What are you doing down here?"

"I was just about to ask you that, James." Her gaze flicked to the batarian then back to Vega.

"Well, after our little chat, I made up my mind. I'm joining the N7 program."

"And you're celebrating by getting a tattoo."

James laughed, "Sort of. See… there's no official channels to go through right now. So, I guess this is my way of making it official."

"I see," Shepard's gaze was slightly glassy and she seemed distracted.

Vega decided that the Commander needed laugh, "Hey, maybe we should get matching?"

Shepard blinked and her eyes cleared. Her eyebrows lifted in surprise, "You want me to get an N7 tattoo?"

James shrugged one shoulder and grinned, "N7… sure. Or you could get my name done… somewhere special."

The woman laughed, "Sure, why not? You're already a pain in my ass. Might as well make it official and get your name tattooed on my left ass cheek."

"The _left_ ass cheek? You've thought about this before, Commander," he teased.

Shepard raised her hands in mock surrender, "You've caught me, Lieutenant. Red-handed." Smirking, she leaned against the doorway and crossed her feet. "I used to have a N7 tattoo - I had quite a few tattoos actually, even had to get a few removed after I enlisted. But after I, ah, died I didn't have much in the way of skin left. There are a few speckles of color here and there, but my tattoos were pretty much obliterated."

"Never got new ones?" Vega asked.

The woman shook her head, "I didn't really have the time, busy prepping for the Collector Base." She frowned slightly, "Also, the thought of getting… 're-tattooed' felt strange, like those tattoos wouldn't mean the same things anymore."

James winced as the batarian jabbed at him again. "You could get new ones."

Shepard nodded, "I've been considering it."

"So, uh, if I can ask," James' grin was back, "which tattoos did you have to get removed?"

"I had an asari pin-up on the back of my neck. That one had to go."

James uttered a surprised laugh before he could stop himself. Shepard was no strait-laced hardass, but it was still hard to imagine that she once had a half-naked asari tattooed on her neck.

"Also had a few gang tattoos on my hands. Had to remove those too, to 'preserve the integrity of the Alliance' and what not."

It seemed the Commander was just full of surprises. "You were… in a gang?"

The woman nodded, "After what happened on Mindoir, I went to live with my aunt on a scummy little planet dotted with scummy little colonies. My aunt was a nice enough woman, but young - ten or maybe twelve years younger than my mother. She really had no idea what to do with me, so she just left me to my own devices… and I was young and angry at the world so I joined up with one of the many neighborhood gangs."

"So how'd you end up in the Alliance?"

"I tried to pickpocket a retired Alliance Officer. She kicked my ass… then told me I would make a good soldier. I was tired of what my life had become and wanted out so," Shepard shrugged, "I enlisted."

"Your aunt still out there?"

Shepard shook her head, "No. She died about a year after I enlisted - crashed her car on the way home from work."

Vega cleared his throat, tried to think of something to say, "Sorry."

A little smile quirked Shepard's lips, "It was a long time ago, Lieutenant, but… thank you."

"There," the batarian said, wiping down James' tattoo. "You're done."

Shepard straightened up and walked over beside James, looking over his tattoo. Her scent, something vaguely flowery, mingled with the more unpleasant chemical smells in the container. James doubted the Commander wore perfume. It had to be her soap that made her smell so good… Vega quickly pushed that line of thought away and shifted nervously. His cheeks flushed a bit.

Shepard noticed the tension in Vega's body and smirked a little, but said nothing about it, "Looks good, Lieutenant."

The batarian used his omni-tool to cover the tattoo with an opaque membrane. "You know the drill. The membrane will dissolve in a few hours."

James nodded and pulled his shirt back on, "Thanks, man." He turned a grin on Shepard, "Want another pin-up, Commander? Or maybe you'd like a Reaper being eaten by Kalros, or a unicorn stabbing the Illusive Man in the face? My treat."

Shepard laughed, "That last one sounds tempting, but not today, James. Maybe if I'm still breathing after all this is over I'll take you up on that offer. Now c'mon, let's go to Purgatory. I'll buy you a drink."


End file.
